


Raksá:’a Akwá:wen

by Assassin_J



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: AU where Haytham quit the Templars I guess, AU where Hayziio didn't break up, Childbirth (offscreen), F/M, Fluff, may be continued possibly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2018-02-09
Packaged: 2019-03-15 16:46:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13617504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Assassin_J/pseuds/Assassin_J
Summary: "I am his mother; I choose his name," Ziio said, crossing her arms. "You would have wanted something stupid like 'John' or 'Ed', I know it.""My father was an Ed," Haytham said, a little hurt.------the day of Raton's birth, from Haytham's POV.





	Raksá:’a Akwá:wen

Haytham was a little unsettled. Someone had told him once that it was the natural order of things that all women would scream and curse their husbands for putting them through such pain. But then again, Ziio was strong; a warrior; a future leader of her people.

True to this strength, she did not cry or curse him at all during her labour. Indeed, she barely showed any reaction at first.

"Our child comes today," she said matter-of-factly over their morning meal.

In response, Haytham made a small inquiring "Ah?" sound.

She smirked. "Do you doubt me?"

"Well, clearly it will be sometime soon," here he gestured at the expanse of her stomach, "but how can you be certain of 'today', exactly?"

"I have felt it since well before dawn."

"You've felt- What?" Haytham's heartbeat did a little double-take. "You don't mean your labour has already begun?"

"Labour? If that is your term for it... then yes." She nodded and took a small sip of her customary tea.

* * *

Later, she did scream. But her screams were the furthest thing ever from the miserable cries of agony Haytham might have expected. They were full of power and determination; too like the magnificent war cries she sometimes let loose in a hunt or a battle.

Haytham thought they were beautiful sounds. Even if they did ring painfully loud in his ears as the hours wore on. But no matter how loud she yelled, he wouldn't dare leave away from his station outside the small hut she was birthing in.

After much time, another more singular shout rang out, and Haytham turned his head toward the covered entryway. This shout sounded absolutely jubilant.

Then there was a quiet. And a few soft mutterings.

And then-- a cry of a quite different nature: small and falsetto.

Haytham sprang to his feet, breath coming fast and excited. He wanted with all his heart to tear aside the leather curtain over the entryway, but that was quite forbidden, Ziio had told him plain and clear. The receiving of new life into the world, he understood, was a certain ritual arcanum that could not be divulged.

And so he waited, his heart pounding a rough staccato beat.

The baby's cries continued, mixed in with some chatter, cooing, and laughter from the women.

The Clan Mother came out from the hut a few minutes later with a bundle cradled in her arms. She said a long string of syllables to him solemnly.

Haytham's skill with their language was only barely decent enough when it came to speaking, and when it came to understanding the speech of others, he couldn't quite grasp half of what was said. The word for "child" was quite familiar to him by now, though, and it had definitely been somewhere in there. "Eksaʼa," he repeated, eyeing the bundle in her arms.

She smirked and nodded. "Hen. Ehtshien:'a."

 _A boy!_ Haytham felt a sudden pride. Stepping closer, he peered into the bundle, and saw a wrinkled little face. The boy had inherited his own elegant English nose, and Ziio's earthy skin.

The Clan Mother said something else, an unfamiliar phrase.

Whatever it was, it sounded important. "Rato... come again?"

"Ratonhnhaké:ton," she said, slower.

"Ah... Nahò:ten kén:ton'?" This phrase rolls off his tongue with practiced ease, for he'd spent a lot of time asking "What does that mean?" in the past months.

Ziio's strident voice came from within the hut. "It is his name, Haytham." She brushed aside the leather curtain to join them a moment later. Haytham only barely detected a small shakiness in her limbs; other than that, there was no evidence to suggest she'd just undergone the exertion of childbirth. "A strong name, fit for a warrior."

"Quite a long name."

"You think everyone's name is long!" Ziio retorted.

"I just mean, you didn't consult me about it-"

"I am his mother, I choose his name," she said, crossing her arms. "You would have wanted something stupid like 'John' or 'Ed', I know it."

"My father was an Ed," Haytham said, a little hurt.

Oiá:ner shushed their budding argument and nudged the boy into his waiting arms.

Haytham looked close at the baby again. "Ra-doon-ha-ge-doon," he said carefully.

Ziio smiled. "There! You managed it!"

Haytham smiled back at her. "I am getting more practiced every day, Kaniehtí:io."

She was pleasantly surprised at that.


End file.
